


Mourn the Dead

by faintlyfreckled



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 08:30:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faintlyfreckled/pseuds/faintlyfreckled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean tries to get Sam to feel better about Jessica's death. The means in doing so aren't anything he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mourn the Dead

It was Dean’s idea to go out to a bar and try to get Sam’s mind off of Jessica’s death. It had been a couple months, six, at least but there was something… off about his brother. Dean wasn’t any good at the touchy feely emotional crap like Sam was but he tried his best to make him feel better. Turns out the bar thing was too much for Sam and he ducked out early. Dean only hung back for a half hour or so after he watched Sam leave to save face. Trailing along behind his little brother when this was  _his_  idea would raise suspicions and the last thing he wanted was for Sam to be all over his ass about hovering too close. That he was fine and coping. Well, turns out Sam and Dean have a different definition of  _fine_  and coping.

Dean stepped out of the bar, deciding to take the shortcut back to the motel through the back ally instead of rounding around the building. As his brain processed the situation in front of him he wondered whether this was the right decision or not. “Sam?” he said suddenly, already recognizing the back of his brother’s head. Sam was on his knees, face in some dirty trucker’s crotch and Dean forced the alcoholic bile gathering in this throat back to his stomach. His mind caught up with his muscles, willing them forward as yanked Sam out of the way and landed a sloppy punch to the stranger’s face.

* * *

Sam kept asking Dean to let the dirtbag go but Dean was never keen on taking orders from anyone, especially his little brother he just caught sucking off some hick in the back ally. Dean got a few more punches in, the dude muttering something about not knowing Sam had a boyfriend and zipped himself up. Dean lost sight of what happened with him after that because his anger reeled around to Sam. Sam’s hand on his shoulder, his fucking mouth still wet from servicing some trucker and he was having a hard time keeping the bile in his stomach where it belonged.

Without thinking, Dean took a swing at Sam’s face, putting all his strength behind it and the allyway echoed with the cracking sound of knuckle hitting jaw. Sam wasn’t expecting his brother to hit him and he collapsed slightly, hanging onto Dean’s shoulder for support. “The fuck you think you’re doin’, Sam?” Dean roared, glaring at his brother before sending another heavy fist at his brother’s face. All he could see was Sam’s mouth on that dude’s cock and he wanted to beat the image out of his own head but Sam’s face, the perpetrator, was more readily available.

Sam’s face exploded in pain, his eyes narrowing on his brother, the who’s hit him and he bared his teeth. His breathing was labored, causing his heart to race and he tightened his fists at his side, gauging his own swing at Dean.

“What, you gonna take a swing at me, Sam?” Dean spat, provoking his brother the only way he knew how. Sam needed to get whatever this was out of his system and if going a few rows with Dean would help, then Dean was more than willing. “Well don’t just stand there looking pretty, Sammy, fucking hit me!”

The moment the words left Dean’s mouth, Sam shoved his weight against Dean, body checking him into the concrete wall behind them and Dean let out a startled cry, the air suddenly knocked from his lungs. “That all you got, little brother?” Dean challenged, his voice breathless but still held that same cocky smugness Dean’s learned to perfect.

That only flared Sam’s anger, the pent up emotions he’s been repressing since Jessica’s death. Passed the wounding guilt of thinking he was the cause and the ache of the loss of his girlfriend, he was just angry. Pissed at anything and anyone that stood in his way. Dean was the person who brought that out of him and he’d lashed out, only just getting started.

“You’re a dick, you know that?” Sam said and Dean simply chuckled, low in his throat. “My whole life I’ve been looking up to you and you just don’t…” Sam’s sentence gets strangled in his throat as Dean takes advantage of Sam’s distracted state.

Their bodies roll along the wall, Dean pinning Sam against the brick. Sam winced, Dean not leaving any wiggle room and his eyes are dark as they bore into his brother’s. “I don’t what, Sam? Get it?” Dean challenged, studying Sam’s contorted features from the grimy streetlight to their right. “You’re right, I don’t have any idea what it’s like to lose people.” His tone is sarcastic with an undertone Sam can’t place at first, but a second later his brain supplies; hurt.

Instead of backing down and bowing out like he knows he should, he uses Dean’s weakness against him. Himself. “Fuck off, Dean.” Sam spat, knowing he shouldn’t have said it but the liquor in his gut and his newfound rage was making him act differently.

Dean’s lips curled in an amused smirk, licking his lips and Sam tracked the movement with his eyes. He didn’t miss a single aspect of the lick. The way Dean’s lips are spit slick and reddened, the memory of Dean suckling his beer like he was a professional and Sam’s gut exploded with warmth. The way his brother manhandled him had gotten this reaction out of him before, when they were kids, but he’d never acted on it.

In a bout of courage, Sam counters Dean’s amusement with a smirk of his own. “Suck me.”

“Excuse me?” Dean replies, his face twisting into a dangerous scowl, like he’s offering Sam a chance to change his tune.

Only, Sam doesn’t.

“You heard me, Dean, I said suck. me.” Sam ventured, emphasizing his words carefully so as not to deter Dean into another deflection. The alcohol sloshing in his gut, liquid courage, while the tiny voice of his conscious was nothing but a feeble annoyance at the back of his head.

Dean stood silent, staring at Sam with an if-looks-could-kill glare. He threw his weight into Sam again, knocking the air out of his younger brother’s lungs, his rage dancing in his too-green eyes. Then he let Sam go, stepping back and leaving Sam to stand on legs like a newly birthed giraffe.

“I can’t believe you—”

“I, what, Dean? Told you to do what we’ve both been thinking for years?”

“Speak for yourself, Sam. There’s no way I’ve ever thought of fucking my own brother.”

“Liar.” Sam slurred his words, his face throbbing and head swimming. He could still taste the trucker’s skin and sweat on his tongue, souring with the alcohol.

Dean screws up another punch, an uppercut to Sam’s jaw, effectively wiping the grin off Sam’s face. “Don’t call me a liar, bitch.”

It takes Sam a couple dizzy seconds to compose himself again, but he forces out a single word in response. “Jerk.”

Then Dean’s expression softens, finally taking in the damage he’d inflicted on Sam and cups his brother’s face to wipe the blood from his cheeks. “You’re an idiot, you know that?” He says softly.

“Suck me.” Sam shoots out in reply, now having his mind set on what he wants. Something he’s wanted since he was 14 and rutting against the motel mattress with Dean’s name hanging on his lips.

“We’re back to that again? Jesus, Sam, give it a rest. I’m not—”

His sentence is cut off by Sam finding the pressure point in Dean’s shoulder and using it to his advantage. Dean winced in surprised pain, trying to wiggle free of Sam’s death grip. Dean’s vision blurs and he tugs on the hair he can reach on Sam’s head, willing him to let go. Sam does, and it’s then that Dean realizes he’s on his knees.

Sam cants his hips forward, a minuscule movement, but Dean caught it nonetheless. A bitter laugh escapes Dean’s lips, looking up at Sam with a dark expression Sam can’t read in the dimly lit alleyway.

“This how you want it, Sam?” Dean asks, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, plastering a steeled expression to his face. Sam simply nods, his breathing growing ragged, his imagination getting a hold of what is soon to become reality.

What happens next, Sam isn’t ready for. He isn’t ready for the brutal movements Dean uses to spring Sam’s cock out of his jeans or the bruising forearm pressed against his gut to keep him flush with the wall. The thing that Sam wasn’t counting on, though, above all else is the expression on Dean’s face as his eyes take in Sam’s dick. He looks like he’s about to cry, the sight of that should be enough for Sam to stop this before it’s too late, but he’s wanted it for far too long and the look is wiped from Dean’s face a moment later, being replaced by a blank slate.

“You’ll stop bitchin’ about your dead girlfriend?” Dean asks, not meeting Sam’s eyes, instead staring at Sam’s cock with an intensity that has Sam’s breath hitching in his throat.

“Uh-huh,” is all he can manage and after Dean nods, decision made, his mouth is surrounding him.

Sam yelps with the sudden sensation, Dean having wasted no time in swallowing him whole, leaving Sam to wonder if his brother has done this before. He’s not sure which outcome would turn him on more, but his thoughts aren’t fixed there long and it’s lost in the feeling of Dean’s lips, teeth and tongue.

Dean is breathing out of his nose, the air hot against the base of Sam’s cock, adding fuel to the fire in his gut. Sam tries to buck into Dean’s mouth as Dean’s tongue teases and circles the head, but his brother’s arm has him pinned, leaving him unable to do much else than take it.

He makes a sound at the back of his throat, a cross between a moan and a chuckle, his mind swimming with everything Dean’s mouth is holding him hostage to. He looks down just in time to see his dick disappear into his brother’s mouth again, sheathed in Dean’s lips, puckered and working along the shaft.

“Fuck, Dean.” Sam moans, biting his bottom lip and Dean shoves his arm against his middle again, silently showing his dislike for Sam breathing his name but he should’ve been expecting it.

Then Dean let Sam go, allowed him to arch his hips however he wanted and Dean’s eyes watered with the impact of Sam’s cock forcing its way down his windpipe. He made a choking sound the same time Sam rushed out a warning he was going to come and it was too late. Sam completely lost it, filling Dean’s mouth and a second later Dean threw himself back, hacking and spitting Sam’s spunk everywhere.

Sam thought the sight would hurt him, but it didn’t. Only made him want to have Dean do it again.

Dean wiped at his mouth, coughing and still trying to gather as much saliva in his mouth as he could so he could spit away the bitter taste of Sam away, getting to his feet and saying, “You done cryin’ now you got what you wanted?” His voice was rough, fucked out and Sam nodded as he pulled his pants back up.

“Good, ‘cause that ain’t happenin’ again.” Dean assured him, shaking his head and wiping at his face as if trying to rid himself of the memory. He then began heading back out to the street, not saying another word to Sam as he left and for a second Sam was willing to accept those words. Take them as the truth Dean wanted them to be, but at the mouth of the alley Sam watched as Dean adjusted himself in his jeans, scratching the back of his head before turning down the street back toward the motel.

Sam smiled to himself, following a moment later. He’d make a liar out of his brother yet.


End file.
